


Can I Tell You a Secret?

by stillscape



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:23:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3155609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillscape/pseuds/stillscape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Leslie Knope clenched her jaw. “No,” she muttered. “No, no, no, no, no.” </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"What?" asked her best friend Ann. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Look who’s here. At biscuit class.” Leslie jerked her head across the community center rec room. Jerk was a good word, she thought, because she was jerking her head at the new kid, who was a jerk. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can I Tell You a Secret?

Leslie Knope clenched her jaw. “No,” she muttered. “No, no, no, no, no.” 

"What?" asked her best friend Ann. 

"Look who’s here. At biscuit class.” Leslie jerked her head across the community center rec room. Jerk was a good word, she thought, because she was jerking her head at the new kid, who was a jerk. 

Ann squinted. 

"It’s that kid from Minnesota!" Leslie spat. 

"The one who insulted Pawnee on his first day?" 

"Exactly." 

Well, he hadn’t insulted Pawnee so much as he’d insulted the school lunch, which Leslie found very rude, and when she’d confronted him by pointing out that lunch was made by real people in a real cafeteria with real feelings, he’d raised an eyebrow and said "This cafeteria has feelings?" The really infuriating part was that he wasn’t even wrong, because lunch was—as usual—absolutely revolting. But that, she thought, was not the point. 

"What’s a boy doing in biscuit-making class?" Ann wondered. Then she shrugged. "I guess he wants to learn to make biscuits." 

Leslie elbowed Ann hard in the ribs. “Go over there and find out.” 

"Ow," Ann complained. But she went over, because after all, what were best friends for?

Unfortunately, this led to their teacher partnering Ann with the new kid instead of with Leslie. Leslie got stuck with some weird old lady named Ethel, who kept insisting she already knew how to make biscuits. 

"Then why are you even here?" Leslie muttered under her breath. 

"I can’t hear you," croaked Ethel. "But do what you want. I don’t give a damn." 

An hour later, Leslie stared down the new kid over her perfectly fluffy biscuits. He had flour stuck to the seat of his pants. 

"He’s not that bad," said Ann. "I think you’d like him, actually. You guys have a lot in common."

"No, we don’t." 

Ann shrugged and broke off a chunk of biscuit. 

____

"You can’t sit here," Leslie snapped. 

The new kid, a slightly pained look on his face, turned away. 

"Don’t be stupid," admonished Ann. "Ben, sit. Leslie, be nice." 

The new kid sat. Leslie looked over his tray and arched an eyebrow. “Oh, so you’re not too good for the food here.” 

"Are you still angry about that?" He looked kind of bewildered. "I didn’t mean it personally. I mean, it’s not any grosser than the food at my old school."

"Leslie, you complained about the very same lunch," Ann muttered. 

"Yeah, because they gave me salad. I specifically asked for no salad." 

Ann slumped dramatically over her own tray. “I give up.” 

____

Leslie wrapped the phone cord so tightly around her fingers that the tips turned bright pink. “Can you believe that?” she demanded. 

On the other end of the line, Ann groaned. “That Ben joined Model UN? Yes, actually. I can. I told you, you two have a lot in common.” 

"He’s the worst." 

"I’m thinking of asking Justin to the Sadie Hawkins dance," Ann said loudly. 

"Are you trying to change the subject?" 

"Yes." 

Leslie let out a little huff and cleared her mind. "Okay, fine. Wow. Justin, huh?” 

"What do you think?" 

Leslie thought the real problem with Ben joining Model UN was that, based on their first meeting, he might be better at it than she was. 

"Justin seems really cool," she said. 

____

"Oh, look who’s here," said Ann, nudging Leslie in the ribs. 

"I know Li’l Sebastian’s at the Harvest Festival, Ann. Duh. He’s the main attraction." 

"Not the horse. Over there. Ben." She pointed. 

Leslie followed Ann’s finger. Sure enough, there was Ben, in his usual plaid flannel shirt and jeans, looking somewhat aggrieved. He must have been with his family, she thought—an older woman, a slightly younger girl, and a boy who was basically a shorter version of Ben. 

He looked up, and straight at them. 

"Crap on a caramel apple." He was waving at them. Waving. Who did that? 

"C’mon, let’s go say hi," said Ann. 

"I don’t want to," Leslie protested, but it sounded feeble even to her. 

And really, what was she going to do? Not be nice to her classmates’ mom and siblings? 

"We were just going to the corn maze," Leslie found herself explaining, after the introductions were complete, and then, "Want to come with us?" 

She had not meant to say that. 

Ann snickered. Ben looked relieved. 

"There’s only so long you can spend with your family," he said, as they entered the maze. "You know?" 

"No. I’m an only child." 

"Oh."

"But my mom drives me crazy sometimes, sure." 

"Henry keeps demanding the story of every last thing. Like I’m supposed to know about that pony?" 

"He’s not a pony!" 

Out of the corner of her eye, Leslie saw Ann cringe and draw a finger across her throat. 

She took a deep breath. “He’s a miniature horse. There’s a difference.” 

"Okay," Ben said. "Um, tell me?" 

Leslie smiled. 

Fifteen minutes later, they were in the middle of the corn maze and Ann had disappeared. 

"Oh, my god. She’s lost. We lost Ann," Leslie said, her heart racing. "What if she’s been taken? She could have been kidnapped. She—" 

Ben put a hand on her forearm. “She saw Justin,” he said calmly. “She went to say hi to him.” 

"Oh." 

"You were really…involved. In telling me about the pony. Mini horse, I mean." 

Leslie looked at Ben’s hand on her arm, and then around to make sure Ann wasn’t being murdered behind her back, and then up at Ben’s face. He was squinting in the late afternoon sun. He had a cute mouth. 

"Wait, what?" she said aloud. She pulled her arm back, and rubbed the place Ben had touched her with her other hand. 

"What?"

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Let’s get out of here.” 

"Okay," Ben agreed. 

____

Ben slid easily into the desk next to hers at Model UN. “Here,” he said, dropping a bag onto her binder. 

"What’s this?" 

"Leftover candy from Steph’s Halloween party." 

She peered inside the bag. It was mostly candy necklaces. 

"Mom’s pretty strict about sugar," he said. "I don’t know. I just thought you might want these." 

"You gave me all your candy?"

He grinned. “Just the stuff I don’t like. I kept most of the Snickers.” 

She unwrapped a candy necklace, put it on, and bit into it. 

"I can’t believe you don’t like these," she said. It came out muffled. 

He shrugged. 

"Hey. Thanks." 

He shrugged again, and poked a pencil into the middle hole of his college-ruled notebook. 

____

"Leslie, dinnertime," came her mother’s voice, from downstairs. "Get off the phone." 

"So Justin said yes, right?" 

"I don’t know," said Ann. "I haven’t asked him yet." 

"Well, of course he’s going to say yes," Leslie said. "Every single guy at school would say yes if you asked him." 

Ann chuckled. “I don’t think that’s true.” 

But before Leslie could ask what she meant by that, her mother bellowed “Leslie! Now!” and she could only mutter a hasty goodbye and hang up. 

It was only a week until the Sadie Hawkins dance, Ann hadn’t asked anyone, and Leslie hadn’t even decided if there was anyone she wanted to ask. 

She pondered it after dinner, while she chewed on a candy necklace and finished her geometry homework. If nothing else, she thought, she’d just go with Ann, and they’d have a perfectly good time on their own. 

____

She caught up with Ben outside his locker, just before the first bell rang. 

"Hey, you." 

"Hey." He looked happy to see her, at least. 

"Um," Leslie started. Now that this was happening, she...wasn't nervous exactly. But still, she kind of wished they were somewhere more private, just in case. "What are you doing on Saturday?"

"Saturday?" echoed Ben, as though it was some kind of foreign concept. 

"Yeah. It's the Sadie Hawkins dance." 

He shut his locker and leaned against it. "I know." 

"Well, do you want to go with me?" She watched his face carefully for a reaction, and got one that made it seem he'd been hit in the head with a frying pan. Then he turned pink. 

"Um, yeah," he said. "That, uh--that'd be cool." 

"Okay."

The bell rang. 

"Okay," Ben repeated. 

He walked into a homeroom that wasn't his. 

____

Ben pulled her aside, into a darkened hallway, just before they made it under the “Sadie Hawkins Day” banner that arched over the door to the gym. 

"What?" He had both of her hands in his, and they—all four hands—were suddenly clammy. 

"I just—I wanted to—before we go in." Ben took a deep breath. "Um, Ijustwantedtosaythatyoulookreallyprettytonight." 

"Oh." She meant to smile at him, and maybe she was doing that, but she couldn’t feel her face, suddenly. Everything, her whole body, felt…floaty. And warm. Floaty and warm. Floaty and warm and her heart was beating really fast and the words _Youlookreallyhandsome_ spilled out.

She noticed, again, how cute Ben’s mouth was. 

What was it, she wondered suddenly, that guys did when they wanted you to kiss them? She had kissed a boy before, once, under the bleachers at a middle school basketball game. But it had been all wrong—gross, really, even without tongue—and that was before he’d pulled away and looked at her like she was some kind of stupid little kid, and dragged the back of his hand across his face. They’d been going out for a whole day, and she had thought that was the signal, but— 

She searched his face almost desperately, sending her eyes from his hairline to his chin and back again. 

And there had been other times since, not other kisses, but other times she’d wondered what the signal was, whether she should go for it—and she had gone for it, but none of the kisses landed. So maybe now she shouldn’t try, because she didn’t want to be wrong, not now, not with Ben—

He pulled her in, closing the distance between them, and slid his lips onto hers. So that was the signal. Or a signal. Or—

She tried to stop thinking. 

It didn’t feel gross this time. It felt like something she was going to want to do again, as soon as they stopped doing it. 

They stopped doing it. Leslie took a few breaths, waiting to see if she was right…she was. She was right. She tilted her head up again.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Ben said. 

She nodded. He blushed. 

"I signed up for the biscuit class because I knew you’d be there." 

Leslie blinked, confused. “What?” 

"I heard you and Ann talking about it. And my mom said I had to do some sort of extracurricular thing. So I said biscuit class." 

"That’s weird." 

"Is it?" 

"But cute." 

Ben swallowed. 

"Did you also join Model UN because you knew I’d be there?" 

He shook his head. “No. I did Model UN back in Minnesota too.” 

"Right." She knew that, it had been obvious from the beginning; he was really good. 

"Um, anyway." 

"You should kiss me again," she said, and he did. 

This time his tongue pushed gently against her lips, and she opened them slightly, enjoying the sensation. 

It was over too soon, again. She stood in the school hallway with Ben’s hands around her shoulders, and wondered if she’d ever felt so happy. 

Unfortunately, the feeling didn’t last long. 

"Uh-oh," she gasped. 

Ben’s brow furrowed. “What?”

The unmistakable rhythmic clacking of heels on linoleum tile echoed down the hallway. 

“ _Leslie Barbara Knope_ ,” rang her mother’s voice.

____

 

"This isn’t exactly what I had in mind for the dance," Ben said. It was cool inside the gym, and he’d loosened his tie, but his face looked sweaty. 

"Me either." She wanted to squeeze his hand, but she was too afraid her mother would turn around. Again. For the eight hundredth time since she’d caught them kissing in the hallway and ordered them to stay in clear view of the chaperones for the rest of the evening. They’d been sitting on the bleachers ever since, save the few minutes she’d spent hissing the details to Ann in the bathroom, and the few minutes it had taken Ben to grab sodas and cookies from the refreshment table. The cookies were gone now. One tiny crumb, she noticed, remained in the fold of her dress, and she promptly shook it out. 

Ann bounced across the gym floor with Andy Dwyer, who kept stepping on her feet. What had happened to Justin? Ann kept being evasive about whether or not he was her date. Justin hadn’t picked her up, but he had danced with her twice. 

Leslie sighed, scrunching and unscrunching her toes inside her heels. They were the highest she’d ever been allowed to wear, and they hurt a little, even sitting down. She hadn’t danced at all. 

"Not a great first date, is it?" 

Ben sat up a little straighter. “This is a date?” 

"Of course it is," Leslie said quickly, clenching her stomach muscles in an effort to stop her heart from sinking any further. "I mean, isn’t it? You’re my date, to this dance, so I thought…” 

"No, no, that’s…" Ben swallowed. "Cool. It’s cool." 

"Okay." Her voice didn’t sound very certain. 

"But you’re right," he said. "I can think of better ways for a first date to go than your mom walking in on us kissing." He turned pink for probably the twentieth time that night. It was cute, she thought. 

"Like what?" 

"Well, like kissing you without your mom walking in on us." 

"There’s a start," she said. "Where would you be kissing me?" 

"On your mouth," Ben said immediately. "Where else—oh, you mean like if we weren’t at this dance?" 

Leslie, suppressing a snort of laughter, nodded. 

"Okay. Um…" He looked wildly around, and she followed suit. No chaperones were watching, or listening, and none of their classmates were either. "Behind the school, maybe?" 

"That’s not very creative." 

Ben raised an eyebrow. “You sound disappointed.” 

"Come on," she said, goading him, and feeling the familiar rush of exhilaration that always came with goading. "Use your imagination. It could be anywhere. Sunset in the forest. The White House. Paris."

Ben looked alarmed, and she swallowed quickly, hoping she hadn’t gone too far. 

"I mean," she said, "you know, within reason. And, I mean, if you even want to…to…" 

God, she hoped he wanted to. She stared straight ahead, at a basketball banner on the other side of the gym so she wouldn’t have to look at his cute mouth in the event it delivered bad news. (Although, she reminded herself, he was still sitting on the bleachers with her, and that meant something.) 

"Backstage, somewhere secret, just before they give out awards at a Model UN conference," he said, quietly. 

Leslie’s breath caught. She let her eyes slip from the basketball banner to Ben’s fingers, which tapped nervously on his thigh.

"No chaperones?" she asked. 

"Obviously not." 

"Okay." She looked him full in the face now, and grinned. "Let’s do that." 

"Or we could—wait, what?" 

"The conference next weekend," she said. "That’s what you were thinking of, right?" 

"Well, it was really more of a fantasy—" 

This time it was Leslie’s turn to flush pink. Her cheeks pulsed raw and hot, and without bothering to check for her mother’s hawk-like stare, she slipped her hand into Ben’s. 

"If you still like me in a week—wait. You are still going to like me in a week, right?" 

Ben swallowed hard. “I’ve liked you since I got here,” he told his shoelaces. 

"So that’s settled," she said. "I mean, unless we can sneak one in sooner than that." 

Ben opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get any words out, there was an enormous crash from somewhere outside the gym. Everyone turned to look. A pained howl came from the same direction as the crash, and all the adults ran out to see what was the matter. 

"What do you think that was?" Ben asked. He looked a little shaken. 

Leslie shrugged. “If I had to guess, I’d say it was Andy Dwyer, rollerblading into something that shouldn’t be rollerbladed into.” She stood up. “C’mon, while my mom’s not here.” 

Ben quickly stood up too, but when they got to the floor, he merely gave her a peck on the cheek. 

"What was that?" she complained. 

Ben shrugged, threw a glance at the door, and when he saw no adults had returned, kissed her more thoroughly, until she felt good and floaty despite her pinched toes. 

"Let’s dance," she said, dragging him away from the bleachers. 

"Oh, no, that’s not—"

"I asked you to a dance," she said. "We’re dancing at least once. Because that is what I had in mind.” 

Ben took a deep breath, held her hand, and followed. 

____

There were some advantages to your parents divorcing and your mother moving you and your siblings from Minnesota to Indiana, Ben thought. Not many, but some. For one, although Pawnee reportedly had the worst winters in the state, so far the weather had remained much warmer than Partridge’s. For another, the girls in Pawnee were much smarter, nicer, funnier, kinder, and prettier than the girls in Partridge (or at least one of them was, and one was enough). For a third, having a single divorced parent who worked meant that while sometimes you got stuck babysitting your annoying younger siblings, sometimes you also got the house to yourself, which meant you could do homework while sitting cross-legged on your bed holding hands with the smartest, nicest, funniest, kindest, prettiest girl you’d ever met. 

Now was one of those times. They faced opposite ways, so they could each hold the other’s left hand and write with their right, and Ben felt it was to his credit that he had been able to complete all of his math homework in record time. He just hoped it was correct. The last thing he needed was a bad report card, which would undoubtedly provoke both parents into yet another screaming match that he could really do without. 

Leslie slammed her binder shut. “Done,” she announced. 

"Already?"

"Yeah. What do you have left to do?" 

"Just that Shakespeare analysis for English."

"Oh."

"I can do it later tonight," he assured her quickly.

She grinned at him, and as usual, his heartbeat increased to racing speed. “That’s good,” she said. Without bothering to move any of their homework, she twisted just enough to pounce. 

"Whoa," he tried to mutter, but it came out as more of an "Mmmph," because Leslie had wasted no time in going for the kiss. 

Ben closed his eyes and tried not to think about how much he was going to miss her over Christmas break, and the two horrible weeks he’d be in Minnesota with both sides of his extended family and a limit on the amount of long-distance phone calls he was allowed to make. Those things weren’t important—not now, not when he’d just realized he was slowly tipping backwards as his girlfriend (his _girlfriend_ ) became more than a little overwhelming. 

He grabbed her hips to steady himself. She didn’t seem to mind. Actually, she seemed to like it a lot. She had one of her hands on his chest, he realized, and he instantly decided that he liked that a lot. 

"I meant to tell you," she breathed, in between kisses, "you were really cute yesterday, giving that report in history class." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

"Well," he countered, " _you_ were really cute giving morning announcements this morning.” 

She snorted. “You couldn’t see me. You weren’t in the office.” 

"You sounded cute," he said. "I like hearing you announce things." 

She sat up then, fluffed her hair, and cleared her throat. “In that case, I’d like to make an announcement now. I’d like to announce that you, Benjamin Wyatt, are the best boyfriend in the city of Pawnee, and the state of Indiana, and—” 

They both drew sudden breaths as a door downstairs slammed shut and three sets of footsteps began clomping through the house. 

"Benji, we’re home," yelled his mother, unnecessarily. 

"Crap on a Christmas cracker," spat Leslie. She scrambled upright, and so did he. They had barely arranged themselves cross-legged and a respectable distance apart when his bedroom door flew open without warning. 

"Benji. Hey, have you seen the— _oh_.” His little sister, his horrible, good-for-nothing, usually-not-that-bad little sister raised her eyebrows. 

"What do you want?"

"Nothing," said Stephanie, who immediately turned away and yelled "MOM! Benji’s got a girl in his room!" at the top of her lungs. 

"We’re _doing homework_!” he yelled, equally loud, before casting a sidelong glance at Leslie. She seemed more or less composed, but her shirt was definitely twisted in a way that couldn’t have happened had she been sitting still the whole time. He gestured at it, and she immediately tugged everything back into place. 

"Is that true?" called his mother. Another set of footsteps came up the stairs.

“Yes,” he insisted. 

Leslie pointed at him. “Your hair,” she whispered.

He hastened to tidy it before his mother made an appearance.

"Good thing we didn’t take our homework off the bed," he whispered to Leslie.

"I was thinking ahead," she said. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Wyatt! Wait, I’m sorry. Is it still Mrs. Wyatt, or did you take your maiden name back? Or do you prefer ‘Ms.’? Or did you hyphenate? My mom hyphenated her name when she got married. It was kind of unusual at the time. She never changed it back after my dad died, she—"

Ben had never heard anybody talk so fast, save auctioneers and the guy in the Micro Machines commercials. He held his breath as his mother surveyed the schoolbooks and binders across his bed, which were—he now realized in horror—all closed. 

"Keep the door open from now on," she said. 

Ben tried to say “okay,” but couldn’t, as he was still holding his breath. He nodded instead. 

"You’re welcome to stay for dinner, Leslie," added his mother, as she gently pushed a goggling Stephanie away from the door.

After they'd gone, all the air rushed out of Ben's lungs. "That was...close." 

Leslie reached over and squeezed his hand. "Your mom's a lot less scary than mine." 

He hoped, desperately, that he and Leslie would never, ever have his _dad_ walk in on them.


End file.
